The Nightmare Lurker
by frillythingy
Summary: An MST3K Story. The old tv show Mystery Science Theater 3000 is my new favorite thing to watch. This involves no movie, but a story of terror! My first scary story The Nightmare Lurker. Enjoy!


In space, momentum is continuos, therefore there is no need to flap ones wings. But habit overpowered all in his mind. Habit always seems to take over ones mind when they are too focused on other things, so his wings continued to beat in a rhythmic fashion, as he sailed through the starry nebula.

There was indeed alot on his mind, so much he had to do in his short time. It was almost impossible. But he understood why. It was because he had failed so miserably before on the same task, with a much longer time. His Master made it a point that this was his last chance. If he didn't deal with the problem at hand, he would be blamed and slaughtered like so many before him. Normally, the mere pressure of the mission would have him wrenching at his own face with his razor claws, pleading, and awaiting an inevitable gruesome death. He was one of the lowest ranking fighters, being far weaker than his brothers, only picked for this mission because of the way he looked.

But he was confident. He knew this time he couldn't fail. He had an ace up his sleeve this time, and it floated just beside him the whole trip.

Earlier, he was able to talk his Master into sending another with him, someone he knew all his past, and someone with a rank a slim few are higher than. This creature was inventive, intelligent, and worked well under horrible pressure. He followed orders to the letter, and knew when to strike. With HIM on his side, he had nothing to fear.

Of course, fear did come. Not in the true sense, but more in anxiety. He knew the strength of the beings he was going up against, and even with his ace in the hole, the mission would still be difficult. Nervously, he went over the plans in his head once more, his wings still flapping away.

The other began to stir from his rest. He turned over and gazed at his ally, who stroked the fur on his own chest absentmindedly.

"Carvine...?" His voice was still hoarse from resting. "Why arent you resting for tomorrow?"

"I couldn't sleep." He responded back, not even meeting his bright red eyes to his companions. "Too much to think about."

"You realize Darher will kill you if you don't succeed, right?"

"Why do you think I'm worried?" Carvine snapped back, teeth bared. In their society, even friends are treated roughly.

"Get some sleep. Or you may find yourself too exhausted for the mission."

"Don't worry, Darelokk." He growled. "I'll be fine. You can go back to sleep. I'll keep a lookout."

Darelokk snorted, then curled himself up again. The two, hurdling through space at an incredible speed, continued just as they had started. Darelokk sleeping soundly, Carvines wings uselessly beating against airless sky.

Time is a planetary thing. Leave the surface, and you leave behind the fourth dimension, and enter the third. Outside a planet, time stands still. There is no sun to glisten on your eyelids each morning, no sundown to symbolize the end of each day. Hours and minutes mesh together incoherently. Weeks and months are only meaningless terms. Your body feels the loss of time, it ages spastically when there is none, unsure how and when to make your body age. Because there is no when. There is no age. There is only empty space and vast nothingness.

Which is why, as he sleepily reached across his nightstand to the alarm clock, to stop it from its horrible screeching, he didn't bother to read what numbers were scrawled across the shiny screen. They meant nothing to him. All he understood was the alarm went off, because he was now expected to prepare his routine.

His face was buried deep in his pillow, leaving himself only the smallest air hole. A puddle had formed on the pillow, just below his mouth. He knew he must have been restless that night, his blankets, rather than comfortably organized in layers, were scattered across his body in a heap. He must have kicked them off, gotten cold, and put them back on, all while thrashing in his unconsciousness. He only would do that if he was troubled, either by too many thoughts or by a terrible nightmare. He thought hard, but found he couldn't recall his dreams. What had it been that had troubled him so?

But He had no time to think about it now. He was an honest man, and he got up the first time the alarm went off, rather than letting it go off several times only to pound the snooze button and have it go off again. So, tired soar and cold, he slid his hands against the bed until they were positioned flat next to his chest, and pushed off on them, raising his head out of the groove he had left on the soft cotton headrest. Carefully he positioned himself to his knees and sat up, one eye still closed, and he scanned the room around him. He made it a point to keep it clean, and had done a good job of it too. The dresser was organized, the tools put back in the case, it almost was if no one lived here. He turned his attention to the lights, which were brightly lit. He smiled, she was up too.

He hopped off the bed and scooped up all the blankets, putting them in the laundry basket, and hurried off to his normal routine. One can not call it 'morning', for stars were still visible out the window. Just as they had been since he left the reaches of time, and just as they will be for many routines to come. There have been times, at the point he used to call night, where he just looked out this window and cried, wishing he could return to the bliss of humanity. He would hold his weary head and stare, wishing to see land and oceans, but instead seeing large black voids, like the one he held in his heart. He wanted to go back, he would do anything for it.

Now, though, he was content. It was too early to dwell on these things, too early to really care. He stumbled his way into the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind him. His eyes found the mirror, and he positioned himself in front of it.

He definitely did not sleep well. His eyes had black eerie rings under them, and they lacked any life inside. His shoulders slumped and his jaw hung, too tired to give the effort to stand up straight. It was now he began to worry. This horrible sleep pattern was not normal for him, yet now was the third in a row. Something was definitely not right. Usually, he remembered his dreams exactly, and could recite how many birds flew outside the window. But for the past three sessions, he had not recalled much at all. Sometimes, if he thought hard enough, he could remember one thing. Terror. But thats all. No faces, no stories. Only the terror.

He chose to ignore it for the time being. He had a job to do, and he was bent on doing it, so he pried his eyes away from the taunting image and turned away from the revealing mirror.

Still warm droplets from the shower began to fall out of his hair, losing their heat as they fell through emptyness and onto cold floor. He shook his head like a dog, spraying water onto the foggy mirror, then roughly took a towel to his sandy brown hair, removing as much moisture as he could. He could feel all over his arms and legs the smaller hairs, once wet and stuck firmly to his skin, dry and pull away as they stood up on their own. He threw the now wet towel to the floor, opened the door, feeling the sudden temperature change, and made his way back to his small room, wearing only his boxers. Once inside, he closed the door and locked it, a habit he had gotten down on Earth, but something never really necessary to someone who lives alone. Hanging on the door was his uniform.

Or, what was once his uniform. Back when he actually had a paying job, it was his duty to wear that outfit to work every day. And it made sense, the job he had was a dirty one, and he'd rather get the old worn uniform dirty than his clothes. He wore the uniform partially on his own choice. Now, it is all he has. He has no choice but to wear his uniform, in a horrible lonely job where his pay arrives as packages of food to keep him alive.

He dressed himself quickly, feeling better with his skin covered in a warm blanket of cloth, and sat down on his bed and sighed, looking at his room. It was very small, the ceiling was low and got lower as you moved closer to the head of the twin bed he slept in. Opposite the bed was a small dresser, not four feet high, and the door exiting the room into the main hall stood to the left of that. On the wall to the right of the one with the dresser, on the right side of the bed, there was the window. It was in the lower left corner of the wall, shaped like a hexagon, that measured as six and a half feet from side to parallel side. To the right of the window hung two different drawings, both of himself. They were crude, almost childlike, and both had a distinctly different style. But he treasured them, they were two of his most prized possessions, even though they were drawn by hands other than his own.

He sat on the covers of the bed and stared out the window, much like he did every morning. It was the time in the day when Earth was visible outside it, big blue and green, glazed with a thin white coating of clouds and atmosphere. He smiled at it. He did miss being on the surface of that pale planet, but at the same time, he knew there were things he would miss if he left this place, such as the magnificently beautiful scene that unfolded every day outside his window.

He sat and daydreamed for a while, picturing himself down there, spending time with others of his species. But suddenly, he remembered his duties, and shook himself out of the trance, bolting down to the door, and dashing out into the hall.

The hall was very different from his rooms. Like the other main rooms, it had grey walls with various bumps and textures, made up of hexagonal shapes. Next to his bedroom door was the bathroom door, then basically nothing but utility for several meters down. Past the utility rooms was another bedroom door, leading to the only room with a feminine feel to it. The other way was almost empty also, but if you went a little ways down, two more bedroom doors were there, fairly close to each other. But he wasn't heading for the rooms. He wandered his way through the hall, down the bridge, past the main room and into the kitchen.

All the while still thinking of the horror from that night.


End file.
